


quantum mechanics of fate

by thekardemomme



Series: Skam Fic Week [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: Isak is scared of thunderstorms, and Even is the only one home to help him sleep.





	quantum mechanics of fate

**Author's Note:**

> this is what came out of 1500 scrapped ideas and drafts. do I love it? no. am I posting it anyways? damn right. 
> 
> literally all the science shit doesn't make sense idk. my research could be wrong af but just,, pretend I know what I'm talking about
> 
> this is for Day 2 of fic week: bed sharing

If Isak is honest with himself, he’s scared of a lot of things. Spiders, snakes, insects that fly, animals that bite, that creepy old lady who sits at the park doing needlepoint embroidery (stabbing the needle into the canvas whilst staring people down is very creepy, okay?). He doesn’t like to admit these things to anybody, because he know he’ll get relentlessly picked on if Jonas finds out he cried that one time there was a moth in his room, or if Mahdi finds out he nearly threw up when Eskild found a mouse in their cabinets.

Isak is used to lying to himself. Hell, he said he was straight for a good 16 years of his life, and that’s probably the least true thing he’s ever said about himself. Honestly, it’s laughable that people ever believed he was straight. More so that Isak ever believed that he was. Nevertheless, it’s easy for him to lie and put up a front and pretend his heart isn’t beating out of his chest every time he has to do public speaking, or to pretend he isn’t nauseated at the mere thought of climbing up the Eiffel Tower. And for the most part, he’s able to get by on these white lies with very little mishaps.

Until the first night in ages that a thunderstorm hits Oslo.

It rains all the fucking time in Oslo, but in all the years Isak has lived in Norway, he can count on one hand the times he’s heard thunder. And tonight just happened to be a severe thunderstorm, so severe that there’s bright flashes of lightning with hardly any intervals, and loud crashes of thunder that sounds like God is ripping the earth in half. Like, if Isak were to dare to look out the window, he’d see a large hole in the sky where the heavens would be shining through. You know, if he believed in that sort of thing.

He’d originally tried to drown it out with the television, but then the power went out. So he listened to music on full blast until his phone died, and then tried to go to sleep. But he couldn’t calm down enough to sleep, because with every clap of thunder he startled. Isak was always a crier, but being stuck alone in his bed with no power, helpless but to listen to this storm and wonder what the fuck would happen if the apartment building got struck by lightning or something; he can’t hold back tears, even if he wanted to.

There’s a light knock on his door, and Isak tentatively peeks his head out of his duvet and calls for whoever it is—probably one of his roommates, Even or Jonas—to come in. Even is the one to pop his head in, which is mildly shocking to Isak, because he and Even have interacted about as many times as Isak has experienced thunderstorms. He’d just moved in with Isak and Jonas about a month ago. And the most Isak has said to the guy has been in the kitchen before class, asking if he had a key already or if he needed Isak to be home at a certain time to let him in. Other than that, it’s mostly silent companionship as the three of them watch films or eat together, or random comments about whatever soccer match is on TV. Never anything deeper, or of substance.

Not that Isak likes it that way. He would much rather spend all day staring at Even, talking to him, seeing what makes his brain work. Jonas always says that Isak and Even fill the house with so much sexual tension that it gives Jonas blue balls by association, and recently, he’s started complaining about _romantic_ tension, which Isak is pretty sure isn’t a thing. He keeps trying to hook Isak up with Even and while Isak is totally on board with that, it’s never really seemed like Even is interested. According to Isak, at least. Jonas is convinced that Even is in love with him.

Even steps in, holding up a teacup. “Jonas is out, and he texted me and said you’re not a huge fan of thunderstorms. Figured you might could use some tea. I boiled the water just before the power went out.” His voice is gentle and deep, and it soothes Isak so much that he wants to cry in relief. He should be alarmed by it, but he isn’t.

“Thanks,” Isak murmurs, sitting up and accepting the teacup. Both boys startle when there’s a loud clap of thunder, and Isak forces his face to remain stoic. It’s difficult, but he manages; especially once he figures out that he can hide his grimace behind a sip of tea.

Even nods, walking back towards the door. Isak wants to ask him to stay, but he doesn’t, because that would be weird. “Once the power comes back on, feel free to come sit out here and watch a film with me or something. It might help drown out the noise,” he offers, and Isak nods quickly. He’ll definitely take Even up on that offer. The older boys smiles a little and then steps out of the room, the soft click of the door being overpowered by thunder. Isak doesn’t work to hide his cringe this time.

The time on his watch reads 3:21 (once he finds it buried amongst the rubble in his room, because his phone is dead and his analog clock wasn’t working due to the power outage) when the storm hits it’s peak. It’d been going on for fucking hours, probably creating all sorts of weather records for Oslo in its wake, and Isak wants to literally die. He can’t take it anymore. His teacup is empty and his room keeps lighting up with flashes of lightning and his hands ache from pressing them to his ears.

He decides to swallow his pride, tiptoeing out of his room and down the hall to Even’s door. He knocks lightly, but there’s no answer. He nearly goes back to his room, resigns himself to a night of no sleep and crying and puffy eyes in the morning, but simultaneous thunder and lightning sets him back on his heels. He opens Even’s door and steps in, closing it behind him and pressing his back against it, taking deep and shaky breaths.

Even pulls his headphones out of his ears, and Isak wonders how in the hell Even’s phone hasn’t died yet. “Is everything okay?” Even asks, and Isak tears his eyes away from the soft glow of Even’s phone screen, shaking his head frantically. Even puts his shit aside and stands up, crossing the dark room so he and Isak are closer together.

There’s a candle lit in the corner of the room, setting a faint glow across it. It’s sandalwood, Isak knows the smell, and that’s oddly soothing, too. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, watches Even’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “I-I’m sorry,” Isak gasps, clutching the doorknob tightly in his sweaty palm. His back is pressed so tightly against the door that he can feel it indenting in his skin.

“What for? What’s wrong?” Even asks, and then lightning flashes through Even’s curtains, and Isak has to press his eyes closed.

Isak searches the room wildly, like he’s chasing the lightning around the room, and Even’s hands are on his shoulders, big and calm and grounding. Isak can breathe easier a bit, because Even’s staring at him, and Even holds skies in his eyes. The clear skies that Even holds in his irises remind Isak of what the world looks like when it isn’t thundering and lightning.

“I’m terrified of thunderstorms,” he admits, and realization dawns over Even’s face. Isak realizes then that he’s shaking and crying still, though slower than before, and Even still looks a little bit scared.

“You’re trembling.”

Isak nods, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

The pressure of Even’s hand on his lower back is welcome, and soon he’s wrapped up in Even’s duvet, smelling the sandalwood candle. He sticks to the one side of the bed, trying to keep his trembling to a minimum. Even’s duvet is softer and cleaner than his own, and his mattress has one of those memory foam mattress pads on it, and Isak thinks he could melt into the bed. He does, a little, until lightning flashes light up the room and he has to screw his eyes shut.

He feels Even climb into bed, and then feels Even’s gentle fingers on his arm. “Isak, what are you doing all the way over there? Come here, I’m one hell of a big spoon.” Even doesn’t say anything when Isak burrows into his side instead of being the small spoon, instead holds him closer. Isak is embarrassed, of course he is, because what kind of 18 year old gets this scared over natural weather occurrences? But it’s hard to feel too shitty when Even’s arms are tight around him, and he’s asking Isak if he’d ever heard of Nicholas II of Russia.

Which, what the fuck. “I don’t keep tabs on Russian monarchies, Even,” Isak mumbles into the warmth of Even’s hoodie. Even laughs softly and rubs his back.

“Nicholas II was the last Russian tsar, you know. He was forcibly removed.”

“How?”

“Well,” Even says, “he and his whole family were murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918. Him, his wife, and his five children were shot, bayoneted, and then clubbed. Then, the Bolsheviks released some statement saying that only Nicholas was dead, and that his wife and son were safe. But the other bodies were found in 1979. Except for two of them, who were found in 2007. I’m pretty sure the Russian Orthodox Church still maintains that the Romanovs weren’t all murdered, just Nicholas, but you know. DNA testing can’t exactly be disputed. So they’re buried in a cathedral in Saint Petersburg.”

Isak blinks, looking up at Even. Even’s eyes are closed, his hood pulled up over his hair. He looks beautiful, and so very tired, and Isak can’t help the guilt that twists in his gut. “Why are you telling me about some Russian murders instead of going to sleep? You don’t have to stay awake on my behalf,” Isak whispers, but Even just hums.

They stay quiet for a few minutes, and Isak thinks Even is falling asleep. Isak tries to close his eyes, and picture this exact moment except with more kisses—because that would be one hell of a dream—only to be startled awake by a particularly loud clap of thunder. He does his best to keep his trembling to a minimum, and when he can’t, he tries to pull back and away from Even to avoid waking him.

But Even just pulls him closer, and Isak thinks that maybe Even just kissed his hair, though he can’t be sure. “Do you believe in fate?” Even asks quietly, and Isak raises his eyebrows.

“Like, destiny?” He murmurs, and he feels Even nod. “Yeah, I do. Don’t you, Mr. Romance?”

Even laughs a little, and Isak hides his smile in the fabric of Even’s hoodie. “I don’t, actually.” And that makes Isak shift a little bit to look up at Even, because he was not expecting that. Even was the most hopelessly romantic person Isak knows, he’d never have guessed that Even didn’t believe in fate, and destiny, and by extension, in things like soulmates. “I think that life is like a film. And you can be the director of your own life. Like, you can make your own choices. We’re sentient beings, you know, capable of various levels of thought. If we were predestined to do anything, why would we have a choice at all in the matter? You know what I mean?” His fingers start running through Isak’s hair, and Isak hums.

“I do. But I’m not sure I agree.” He closes his eyes, breathes in the smell of sandalwood and the lavender detergent Even uses on his laundry. “What makes it all so interesting is the infinity. All of the parallel universes that exist and how everything that can happen will happen, and is happening.”

“That sounds really lonely. And it kind of diminishes any hope any of us have of being important, if there’s infinite amounts of us.”

“Science supports fate,” Isak adds. “This physicist called Hermann Weyl said that the objective world just exists, it doesn’t happen. Everything; the past, present, and future; all of it is already laid out. The universe is laid out in time just as much as it is in space, and the future affects the past as much as the past affects the future. Except that it’s not linear, it's all there already. The past is still happening and the future is already happening.”

Even is quiet for a moment. “What’s the science behind that?”

“Quantum mechanics. The details are a bit over my head, but one theory is that it’s due to these things called entanglements. Entangled particles start off in close proximity and then once they separate, they act almost like magic dice, influencing each other because they have a relationship with each other. But to do that, the communication between the two particles would have to travel super fast. So fast that Albert Einstein even believed that there was some new type of physics at play,” Isak explains, and he’s on a roll, so he keeps on going. “So another theory is that the particles had fixed values, because, like Einstein said, nothing should be able to travel that fast. But if that’s not it, then it’s also possible that any communications between the particles happen backwards in time. Like, if any event in the future changes, the particles in the past alter their behavior.”

“I think I have a headache,” Even deadpans, and Isak laughs fondly, because he doesn't have to pretend to be annoyed when Even can't actually see the warmth blooming across his face. One of the perks of a power outage, Isak supposes.

“Basically, physics backs up fate. Because particles.”

“Because particles. That's the closest you’ve come to speaking in actual Norwegian, everything else you just said was in Albanian or something.” Isak laughs, and Even continues. “The only thing I got from that is that fate is a theory. All the quantum mechanics behind it hasn’t actually been proven, so fate hasn't been proven. I’m sure I could find some physics to back up free will,” Even says seriously, and Isak can't help the smile because Even's actually willing to talk about science with him. No one’s ever willing to talk about science with him. “I mean, our thoughts have to be ours. All the synapses in our brains and everything. Even if it’s all we have, just our thoughts and nothing else, our thoughts must belong to us.”

“Maybe,” Isak allows, drawing circles on the sheets with the tip of his finger.

“All of that stuff, parallel universes and fate, none of it is proven. None of it is solid and sure, you know? It’s all just theory.” He turns to look at Isak, “Of everything in this world, the only thing I’m entirely sure about is my life. And I know that’s cheesy—”

“The cheesiest.”

“—but it’s true. Everything in my life can flip on a dime if I start slipping, you know? I have delusions or I’m thinking my life isn’t worth anything. I don’t know how my brain works, I don’t know how the world works, I don’t know what creates fucking lightning and thunder, but I know that I’m alive. And that’s enough for me, I think.”

Isak smiles a little bit, and then shifts to look in Even’s eyes. “Lightning is a spark that happens when too many negatively charged particles gather at the bottom of a cloud. It’s like a static shock, but bigger. And when lightning strikes, it creates an air channel. Once the lighting is gone, the air collapses back and creates a sound wave. Thunder.”

“How can you be so scared of something you can scientifically explain?” Even laughs.

Isak shrugs, “I don’t know. You can probably scientifically explain a lot of things that are scary. Tsunamis and tornadoes and, fucking, spiders or something.” Even chuckles and Isak presses closer. “Can’t we talk about something else? I’m too tired for existentialist topics.”

Even nods, holding Isak tighter. “The Great Gatsby is a timeless classic, and I’m about to tell you why. It starts with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s characters, who are fresh and relatable, with complex personalities and emotional issues, all rooted in love for people who may have loved them back at one point or another.”

Somewhere in Even’s explanation of why The Great Gatsby is the greatest novel ever and Baz Luhrmann directed the best adaptation of the book into a film, Isak falls asleep. He dreams about something he won’t remember in the morning, but will remember the feeling it gave him, and how calm he was and how well he slept. It was probably about Even.

When he wakes up, the storm is over, but he’s still nestled into Even’s arms. Even is awake, too, blinking sleepily down at Isak with a tentative smile on his face. Isak smiles back and nuzzles further into Even’s embrace.

“Thank you for last night,” Isak whispers, and Even just tells him that there’s no need to say thank you. “Seriously, I would’ve never fallen asleep if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Even says softly, carding his fingers through Isak’s hair. Isak hums and leans into it, wrapping his arms tighter around Even’s torso. “Do you want me to make breakfast for us? I’m sure the power is back on,” he whispers, and Isak shakes his head.

“Can’t we just stay in here forever?” He whispers, and Even starts gently trailing the tips of his fingers across Isak’s jawline.

Even nods, “We can do that. If you want to.” He presses a kiss to Isak’s cheek, and Isak’s eyes pop open. Even looks sheepish, so Isak just offers a small smile and closes his eyes again.

“I want to. You were right, you’re one hell of a big spoon.”

“Okay,” Even whispers, and Isak could listen to his voice all day everyday. “We’ll just stay in here forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated, ily all ❤️
> 
> find me on tumblr: thekardemomme


End file.
